


To recreate us

by moreless



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Post-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:13:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27905047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moreless/pseuds/moreless
Summary: “Why do you want to come with me?”After Exegol, Rey is determined to never be planetbound again. When Zorii leaves after all victories are celebrated, Rey goes with her.
Relationships: Zorii Bliss/Rey
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13
Collections: Star Wars Rare Pairs 2020





	To recreate us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inquisitor_tohru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquisitor_tohru/gifts).



“Why do you want to come with me?”

Rey stops in her tracks, suddenly feeling incredibly wrong-footed. Has she misread Zorii’s interest? That spark--what Poe likes to call a spark when he talks about Finn--between them?

“Uh--” she finds herself tongue-tied in a way she’s never been before. Zorii’s visor remains closed over her face, and her thoughts are...neutral. A little curious. Rey doesn’t try probing harder, it’s already bad enough that she’s just catching the tail end of everyone’s thoughts these days. A souvenir from Exegol, and one of the reasons she wants off this planet so bad. She’s never been the biggest fan of the Resistance’s busy, crowded base, and nowadays it's harder to spend any small amount of time in the midst of all these people.

“I thought,” begins Zorii, before she stops. She turns slightly from side to side, like she’s looking around. Then she unseals her helmet with a hiss. Her eyes, her eyes are so green, like the lush boughs of the tree stretching above them. Like the moss under their feet. Rey blinks. She’s being distracted again, and it’s a little embarrassing, but she likes it too, being distracted by Zorii. Her cocksure manner, funny and exciting in her when Rey sometimes finds it irritating in others, like Poe. The shape of her under that red bodysuit. And that she still had it in her to care, after all that has happened to her, after the ruination and destruction of her planet.

She shines in the Force, and Rey can’t help but be drawn to that.

“I mean,” Zorii starts again, looking a little confused. “You can leave? Aren’t you leading these people?”

“What?” Rey's awareness of the base, momentarily suspended by Zorii--her eyes, her shape, her voice--rushes back in, pressing around her. She winces. “No, no! That’s not me. Just Finn and Poe. I’m just the--” _Pet Jedi_ , a voice supplies in her head, and she waves it away. She’s not sure anymore what role she plays here. She used to be Leia’s apprentice, Kylo Ren’s “scavenger girl” and now with both of them gone, she doesn’t have much of a role left to play in the galaxy’s grand plan. It’s probably for the best. She’d called herself a Skywalker, back on Tatooine, but in hindsight she should probably have laid that name to rest along with Luke and Leia’s lightsabers.

Zorii doesn’t know that about her, and that too, makes her tempting.

“You’re a Jedi,” says Zorii, waving her helmet over at her. “Protect and serve, isn’t that what you do? I’m a smuggler. Sometimes I’m also a pirate. I _hurt_ people.”

Rey snorts. “I grew up on Jakku. I scavenged Star Destroyers to survive. I’ve hurt people too, killed them, and even being a Jedi doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll never do it again.”

Zorii still looks sceptical. “What about your friends?” What she means, Rey understands, is “What about Poe?” Not that Zorii really cares about what Poe thinks, but Rey knows she’s leery of being dropped. That she’s just another person running away from her grief.

Or maybe she’s just worried the Resistance’ll blame her for taking away their Jedi. A legitimate concern.

“I’m leaving anyway,” Rey says, closing the distance between them. It feels ridiculous to have this conversation six feet apart. Already two people have shouldered their way between them, casting them curious and irritated glances. “Finn and Poe already know. I just need to get off planet. And I figured, I’d just rather go with you.”

“Okay,” says Zorii. To Rey’s surprise, she reaches out to take her hand, turning it palm up and examining it like there’s a message to be found in her life lines. “Just so you know,” she says without looking up, “I’m going to Kijimi.”

+

Since Alderaan, then again after the Hosnian Cataclysm, there is protocol in the case of the complete destruction of a planet. In theory, the area is supposed to be monitored. All retrieved artifacts are to be returned to the remaining inhabitants of the planet. Survivors are to be resettled.

In truth, none of this ever happens. The Empire did nothing after they’d reduced Alderaan to dust, and the New Republic itself was mostly destroyed with Hosnia Prime. The Resistance is just a militia, and what little legitimacy they’ve gained with the destruction of the First Order hardly extends towards the enforcement of salvage rights. All manner of scavengers, pirates and smugglers have already descended upon the asteroid field that now makes up Kijimi, as they had on the Hosnian system, as they had on the debris ring of ships around Exegol. As a former scavenger, Rey can understand the drive, even as it makes guilt twist a little in her gut. It’s just people trying to survive, most of the time.

Zorii puts her ship in orbit around the debris cloud, pulls out a bottle of Whyren's Reserve. It’s pretty decent booze, as far as Rey knows, coughing a little as she swallows her burning mouthful. Probably stolen or smuggled.

“Sometimes,” says Zorii softly as they watch a chunk of rock float past the cockpit, “I’m glad it’s gone. They’d taken everything, there was nothing left. Just anger, sadness, despair.” She takes another, almost desperate gulp from the bottle. “At least now we can move on. It’s over.” Turning to Rey, her eyes shine in the glow from the navigation dashboard. She says, “I’m a terrible person.”

Rey peels her fingers off the bottle, takes her own sip. Slowly, because she’s not really good at this, talking about feelings, desires. She’s sat on her own so long, that desperate hope for parents that would never return, flight from the barren wasteland she’d been abandoned in. How would she feel if it had been Jakku that’d been blown up? Relief? Or regret? “You’re not terrible,” she says, feeling the words out carefully in her mouth. The booze makes her feel clumsy, so the extra caution is needed. “Just sad. It’s fine. To be sad.”

Zorii turns to her, or more like, her head rolls against Rey’s shoulder, and looks up at her from under her dark lashes. Her eyes are so green. Verdant, is a word that Leia had once used, though to describe the flow of the Force through the jungles of Ajan Kloss. Her eyes are verdant. Alive. “Are you sad?” asks Zorii.

Rey looks down at her hands. They swim before her eyes. “I don’t know,” she says. Maybe. She hasn’t had much time to feel anything beyond excitement, fear, anticipation since she’d left Jakku. And before then she’d been running on hope and desperation. Sadness and grief isn’t something she’d had much time for. She’s not even sure what or whom she should be grieving. Leia? Her parents? The truth of her bloodline?

“I don’t know,” she says again. Sorrow, says one of the old Jedi texts, can lead to the Dark Side, but that is true of any strong, all-consuming emotion. But she doesn’t feel like that. For now, like this ship, she drifts.

“I’m glad,” she says, “that I can stop running.” From her past, from the First Order, from her strange connection with Kylo Ren. “I can try to be something new.”

“Like a smuggler?” asks Zorii with a wry, sloppy smile. “A pirate?”

“Maybe,” says Rey. The alchol has warmed her and she feels stupidly bold. “Like yours?”

Zorii laughs. Her eyes still gleam, but they crinkle in the corners with old laugh lines. “You’re too good for me,” she says. Her lips, when they brush against Rey’s are slightly chapped, but warm and soft. She tastes like whiskey, but Rey probably does too. She closes her eyes, gives herself to the kiss. It’s the closest she’s ever been to someone in a long time, and it’s just nice, really, really nice.

+

“Oh Sith hells,” Zorii exclaims, throwing herself back into her pilot's seat. “Kriffing First Order psychopaths. Who booby traps their alcohol?”

“They probably had dry laws,” says Rey, flipping on the navcomputer and inputting the coordinates for Baatu.

“So they rigged their bars?”

Rey shrugs. There’s a lot of rules that sound incredibly stupid, but she can kind of understand the tangential logic of protecting a resource. She’d used to fight all her life for food, after all. Alcohol might not be quite on that level, but really, nobody in the Order struck her as fully rational in any sense. Though considering she and Zorii had just spent the past half day scavenging the wreck of a scuttled Star Destroyer, they probably have little room to judge.

“This is crazy,” Zorii says. “I’ve raided FO supply lines before, but it was just...terrible hydroponics food. Tibanna gas.” She twirls a bottle in her hand, the liquid within gleaming gold in the reflected light of a nearby moon. “This is high grade shit. From Corellia.” For a moment, it looks like she might open the bottle, but then she tucks it under her seat. Rey hopes it won’t roll away and break when they jump to hyperspace.

“You think it’s legal?”

“What?”

“The booze.” Zorii gestures to the back of the ship, where they’ve got another two dozen crates of high quality alcohol.

“I don’t know,” says Rey. There wasn’t really a manifest attached, and she hadn’t bothered to look.

Zorii grinds the heel of her hands against her eyes, smudging her eyeliner. “When they first sent our kids to the Order, it was legal too. Work orders. Recruitment. People were happy for jobs.”

Rey doesn’t know how to reply to that. The First Order had left Jakku some time before she’d been hidden there. But it’s a story she’s heard before. Planets on the Rim left to defend themselves. Eager for work, for any kind of trade. There’s a reason, Poe has said in one of their calls, that it’s slow going trying to establish a new central government. People have been burnt twice before now, and he’s no diplomat. Even Leia, in the end, had abandoned the New Republic, the cracks in the system far too wide for her to attempt to bridge.

She pushes the ship into hyperspace, watching the starscape bleed into needles of light before them. It’s a sight she can never tire of, the light rushing at her as the ship lurches forward.

“C’mon,” she offers, undoing her crash webbing as the ship begins to stabilize. She holds out a hand, and Zorii readily takes it. “Let’s go to the back.”

+

Rey likes the noises Zorii makes when she rides her face, so she tries to encourage it as much as possible. Zorii’s all too fond of her helmet, and it’s hard to see her when it’s her thighs, her mound, the soft curve of her belly filling Rey’s view, but when she cries out, Rey can see it, in her mind’s eye; how her lashes flutter, how she bites her lip. Her hair falls down between their bodies. Her hands are in Rey’s hair, cradling her face, pulling her mouth up against her cunt. “Rey!” she cries, when Rey curls her tongue around her clit. She tastes good too; alive, salty, warm. “Fuck, I think I’m--”

She comes with Rey curling her tongue into her, nosing up into the tight curls covering her mons until she can hardly breathe. “Rey, fuck, Rey,” and once she’s done shuddering she slides down Rey’s body to flick her own tongue between Rey’s legs, where she’s already wet, hungrily taking two of Zorii’s fingers as she twist her legs behind her neck.

“Please,” she begs, “please, Zorii,” and Zorii generously tips her right into an orgasm that leaves her shaking from head to toe, blindly reaching for her so she can plaster herself against her until she comes down the pleasure white-out. “Thank you,” she says, once she’s gathered herself a little, the habit a leftover from Jakku, where intimacy had been more a necessary transaction against loneliness. Zorii finds it cute, grins every time she hears Rey say it, leans down to kiss the taste of herself from Rey’s mouth.

“Thank _you_ ,” she says, her voice husky, warm, _alive_ , so alive, the way Rey feels too whenever they are here. “I’m glad you came.”

Rey has to chuckle a little at the double meaning, and when Zorii gets it she laughs along. She’s so bright in the Force, that Rey has to shine along with her. She’s kind of hopeless, but she likes it. She likes it so much, Zorii, this, being here.


End file.
